ST CHAPTER 9

During the hour spent in the living room, Wei Jiayi was preoccupied with delegating his workload for the next two weeks.

He kept going back and forth to the entryway to answer and make calls, seven or eight times in total, busy like a monkey scrambling for bananas in a zoo. His tone fluctuated constantly: with some, he was friendly, while with others, he lowered his voice in deference. One moment, he’d be calmly watching the news, and the next, his phone would ring, and he’d pick it up with an enthusiastic, “Ge!”

By now, Zhao Jing’s aversion to him had softened. Perhaps, after spending a few days together, Zhao Jing realized that Wei Jiayi’s personality couldn’t be summed up as insincere. There was a certain gentleness and sense of responsibility about him that had a calming effect on others. Moreover, after enduring a life-and-death trial, Zhao Jing felt his own character had undergone some refinement. He was now more tolerant and humble, no longer as black-and-white in his thinking as his mother had once accused him of being.

When Wei Jiayi asked for his personal contact information, Zhao Jing gave it to him. After all, Wei Jiayi had carried him off the beach. Besides, Zhao Jing had already agreed to let him visit his museum. Refusing would have seemed petty and would make future communication inconvenient.

On such matters, Zhao Jing had always been generous and was not one to act small-mindedly.

After the 9:30 news broadcast, it seemed Wei Jiayi had finally finished arranging all the work he could. He began yawning incessantly.

He sprawled on the sofa in a posture that required no effort from any part of his body. Zhao Jing took it as a sign that Wei Jiayi wanted to spend more time with him but was holding back from admitting he was sleepy.

Zhao Jing didn’t care whether he was there or not; having a casual chat helped ease the gloom he’d been feeling throughout the day.

Once the news ended, Zhao Jing announced, “Alright, I’m off to bed.”

Hearing this, Wei Jiayi jumped up, bid him “Goodnight,” and went upstairs.

Leaning on his crutch, Zhao Jing returned to his room, washed up, and lay in bed with a dim bedside lamp on.

Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly. He was about to sleep but, after a moment’s thought, reached for his phone and propped himself up against the headboard.

His mother had sent a few messages asking how he was doing and when he planned to come home. His father had texted: “Didn’t see any PR news today. You didn’t go out?”

Zhao Jing sent his parents a photo Wei Jiayi had taken of him operating the excavator: “I took pictures, but I don’t want them in the news.”

The events of the day were certainly not the kind that Zhao Jing would want to publicize. Even with his parents, he didn’t want them to know too much about it. Any recognition or praise stemming from this felt completely unnecessary and out of place.

Even just looking at the photo now made Zhao Jing’s mood heavy.

His parents were already asleep and didn’t respond to his message.

Though physically exhausted, Zhao Jing wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. He remembered how, when Wei Jiayi had added him, he’d glimpsed many photos in his WeChat Moments, so he opened the app to take a closer look.

Zhao Jing himself never posted or looked at these kinds of things. He had no interest in other people’s lives and avoided exposing his own for two reasons: it posed potential security risks, and frankly, there was nothing worth sharing.

Wei Jiayi’s posts didn’t feature much of his personal life either. On average, there were only two or three posts a month, most of them showcasing his work. The captions were brief, usually describing the projects and thanking clients.

As he scrolled down, Zhao Jing came across a post from a charity event his mother had hosted. Wei Jiayi had taken a flattering picture of her wearing the jade earrings Zhao Jing had given her for her birthday last year. The jade’s green color was vividly captured in the photo. Both his mother and her secretary had liked the post.

Zhao Jing was surprised to discover that Wei Jiayi had even added his mother as a friend. He also gave the photo a like, acknowledging his photography skills.

Continuing to scroll, Zhao Jing found posts about celebrities, magazine shoots, and the occasional late-night drinking photo with colleagues—none of which interested him.

Until he reached a post from five years ago that stood out.

Wei Jiayi had posted a picture of a table covered with home-cooked dishes. The food looked plain, unappetizing even, and was placed on a shabby wooden table. The caption read: “A feast made by Xiao Pan[mfn]Xiao means “little.” Often used in an affectionate and familiar way.[/mfn] before joining the crew.”

Zhao Jing found it odd and immediately typed a comment: “Who’s Xiao Pan?”

After posting the comment, sleepiness crept over him. He turned off the light and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

When Wei Jiayi woke up the next morning, he saw that the last photographer friend he’d contacted the previous night had just replied to his message.

The friend said he was available and could step in to help.

Wei Jiayi let out a sigh of relief and immediately called to thank him profusely. He felt lucky that he had maintained good relationships over the years. Both clients and friends were understanding of his situation, and everyone who could help had done so. A few clients even contributed to the island’s charity fund after learning what had happened.

After hanging up, Wei Jiayi noticed two new notifications on his WeChat Moments. He clicked on them, only to feel his mood shift from carefree to almost having a heart attack. Aside from Zhao Jing, no one else would possibly scroll through his entire feed and leave a comment on a post from five years ago.

The photo of Pan Yifei’s cooking was one he’d forgotten about until Zhao Jing’s comment.

If it had been anyone else, Wei Jiayi probably wouldn’t have bothered replying. But this was Zhao Jing, and ignoring him might lead to an awkward face-to-face confrontation later. So he responded: “A friend of mine.”

After freshening up, he went downstairs, where Li Mingcheng was already sitting in the dining room. Li Mingcheng told him, “My ge’s not up yet.”

Since they couldn’t start breakfast without Zhao Jing, the two sat chatting. Li Mingcheng mentioned that a rescue engineering team had arrived today, so they wouldn’t have to rely on Zhao Jing’s flatbed truck anymore. He still looked a bit shaken by the experience. Wei Jiayi smiled, clearly able to relate.

Ten minutes passed, but there was no sign of activity from Zhao Jing’s room.

Li Mingcheng checked his watch a few times before saying, “Should I go knock on his door? It doesn’t feel right to leave without him.”

Wei Jiayi walked with him to Zhao Jing’s room. Li Mingcheng knocked gently a few times and called out, “Cousin?”

Wei Jiayi doubted such a soft knock would wake Zhao Jing. Unsurprisingly, it was quiet, as though nothing had happened.

“Let me try.” Wei Jiayi knocked louder than Li Mingcheng had but still refrained from raising his voice too much. “President Zhao? Are you awake?”

The two exchanged glances, both feeling stuck. They couldn’t avoid waking Zhao Jing, but doing so didn’t feel ideal either.

Left with no better option, Li Mingcheng called Zhao Jing’s secretary and asked how he usually woke Zhao Jing up. Secretary Wu advised against waking him at all, explaining that only Zhao Jing’s parents could do so without risking his temper.

The rescue efforts couldn’t wait. Wei Jiayi and Li Mingcheng decided to leave Zhao Jing a message and head to the site first. As they were discussing how to phrase it tactfully, the door suddenly swung open. Zhao Jing stood there in a robe, leaning on his crutch, his expression blank as he stared at them.

“I heard someone calling me ‘President Zhao’ at the door,” he criticized coldly, glaring at Wei Jiayi. The sleep mask hanging around his neck softened his otherwise intimidating presence.

Still, Zhao Jing didn’t seem particularly furious. With an impatient tone, he said, “Got it. I’m up,” before shutting the door.

Not long after, Zhao Jing appeared in the dining room, looking fresh and well-groomed. He didn’t comment on being woken up and ate a hearty breakfast.

They made their way back to the forest. With the addition of a new rescue team and two more excavators, their efficiency improved significantly.

Zhao Jing had sent the PR staff back, but he showed no intention of leaving Buderus Island himself.

Like the rest of the rescue team, he stayed in the suffocating, mosquito-infested forest, quietly operating the excavator bucket. He turned over layers of mud in search of any trace of the missing people.

The rescue efforts were monotonous and grueling, with oppressive heat and humidity broken only by sudden torrential downpours.

The thick mud and rubble left by the tsunami contained both human remains and animal limbs. Flesh had been reduced to scattered fragments, indistinguishable from the debris of buildings, emitting a foul stench.

After four consecutive days of work, they had excavated most of the collapsed buildings and recovered about half of the missing residents’ bodies. The professional rescue workers explained that the bodies still unaccounted for had likely been washed away to other locations.

The somber atmosphere weighed heavily on everyone. To everyone’s surprise, Zhao Jing was the most driven among them. He spent the days working in the forest and returned to the guesthouse at night to handle business, holding meetings where he berated his subordinates.

Wei Jiayi overheard Zhao Jing firmly telling his parents on the phone that he was determined to finish clearing the forest area with Nick and the others before heading home.

On the morning of the fifth day, Nick arrived with an unexpected person—the child Zhao Jing had encountered on the tsunami-stricken beach, Lini.

Lini was dressed in beige cotton-linen clothes and followed closely behind Nick. His eyes were swollen, and he looked even thinner than before.

Nick explained that Lini’s mother’s body had been recovered the previous day. His surviving relatives were helping out in the residential area, where the devastation was unbearable. Most of the deceased were people Lini knew.

Nick had brought Lini along because no one was taking care of him.

“His aunt said he hasn’t been sleeping well. When he does fall asleep, he wakes up screaming and crying not long after,” Nick whispered to the group as Lini wandered off to watch the excavators with curiosity.

Lini was given a spot to sit on a tree trunk covered in plastic sheeting. Nick handed him a phone to watch cartoons, but Lini didn’t seem interested. He silently observed the adults as they worked.

At lunchtime, Wei Jiayi brought him a sandwich, which Lini obediently finished. Then, hopping down from the tree trunk, he walked toward the excavator parked nearby.

Wei Jiayi followed, intending to keep him company, when he suddenly heard Zhao Jing’s voice from behind. “Do you want to drive it?”

Turning around, Wei Jiayi saw Zhao Jing approaching with his crutch, his eyes lowered as he looked at Lini. His expression was far from gentle, but it wasn’t particularly harsh either.

Lini seemed shy and didn’t respond. Zhao Jing climbed into the excavator’s seat and said, “Come on, I’ll teach you how to drive it.”

Lini seemed eager to try, but given his small stature and the fact that Zhao Jing occupied most of the seat, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to climb in on his own. Wei Jiayi softly said, “I’ll lift you up.” He crouched down, gripped Lini under his arms, and hoisted him up gently. Carefully maneuvering him past Zhao Jing’s injured leg, he placed Lini in the center seat.

Once Wei Jiayi had walked a bit further away, Zhao Jing started the excavator and began teaching Lini how to operate it.

They didn’t actually dig anything. Zhao Jing simply guided Lini’s hands on the controls, shifting the levers back and forth and playfully moving the bucket.

Children’s painful emotions weren’t as steady as adults’. They could cry and laugh at the same time. Lini played for a while, laughing a few times when the bucket suddenly dropped, but after a while, he started crying softly, leaning against Zhao Jing’s arm.

Wei Jiayi looked at them. Zhao Jing lowered his head, not comforting Lini, but simply supporting his upper body with his arm while silently watching. Wei Jiayi figured Zhao Jing likely had no idea what to say and simply opted to remain silent. Still, the sight was unexpectedly moving.

Eventually, Lini cried himself to sleep.

Zhao Jing lifted Lini onto his shoulder with one arm. Using his crutch to steady himself, he carefully climbed out of the excavator with the boy.

With his tall build, Zhao Jing made Lini look like a small animal, lying limply on his shoulder. Lowering his voice, Zhao Jing called out to Nick, who was standing by the truck, and asked him to prepare a bed for the child in the back seat.

From ten meters away, Wei Jiayi watched Zhao Jing carrying the child. His professional instincts kicked in. No matter what kind of person Zhao Jing was, this was a moment worth capturing. Torn with hesitation, Wei Jiayi finally couldn’t resist and snapped a photo with his phone.

Zhao Jing’s sensitivity to cameras was uncanny. The moment the picture was taken, his eyes shifted toward Wei Jiayi, immediately catching him in the act. Thankfully, Zhao Jing didn’t seem angry. He merely frowned slightly before looking away.

Once Nick had prepared the bed, Zhao Jing set aside his crutch. With careful precision, he bent down and used a tricky maneuver to support Lini’s head and legs, settling him onto the temporary bed. Afterward, he leaned on his crutch and strode toward Wei Jiayi with an imposing air.

Feeling embarrassed, Wei Jiayi couldn’t explain why he had felt compelled to take the photo. He showed the screen to Zhao Jing and mumbled that it was just a reflex from his profession. Then, he apologized, “Sorry, I’ll delete it.”

The corner of Wei Jiayi’s phone screen was cracked in the shape of a spiderweb, distorting the image slightly.

Zhao Jing had no sense of personal boundaries. Maybe because he couldn’t see well, he suddenly pressed down on the back of Wei Jiayi’s hand, lifting it to get a better view of the screen, as if he were a big-name director reviewing a film.

Wei Jiayi had no idea what Zhao Jing was doing. After a few seconds, Zhao Jing let go, tilting his chin upward. His gaze carried an unnecessary air of smugness.

Wei Jiayi felt a chill run through him. He had grown all too familiar with Zhao Jing’s thought process and was certain he had gotten the wrong idea in his head.

But when it came to Zhao Jing, there was no chance to explain.

“Not bad,” Zhao Jing gave him high praise, then commanded, “Send it to me.”